


Around We Go

by orphan_account



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Horror, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3323291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Schmidt went through five nights at hell, but it's finally over. Or so he thinks. When Freddy's Fazbear's Pizza has a grand reopening, they go all out, even adding new animatronics. But they're not what they seem. Now Mike has his life turned upside down again when the old Fazbear crew comes to him of all people for help. Can he trust them? Can they work together? Or will Mike lose his mind and life along the way?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The loud noises in the hallway forced Mike out of his daze as he dove to the red button on the wall. He flinched at the sound of the purple bunny animatronic slamming itself into the door, over and over and over…

BANG. BANG. BANG.

A few moments passed.

It was quiet now.

It is safe? I better check the cameras. Mike thought. He shakily pulled himself from his slumped position against the steel door to plop himself in his swivel chair and clicked away on his tablet. There was on 72% left, and it was only one a.m. He groaned. "Alright," the brunette muttered, "let's see where you went, Bastard the Bunny."

Mike tapped away, checking the west hall, where Bonnie had walked through to get to his left door. Then the supply closet where Chica stared eerily at the camera, making strange glitch motions, tilting her head to the right and left at an unnatural speed. One might even think it was the camera messing up. . . Onto Pirate Cove, where glowing eyes peeked out from the darkness, the dirty, worn red curtains opened just a tad. A sign was placed in front.

It's ME-

Wait.

He quickly went back. Sorry! Out of order.

He stared. The exhausted security guard then blinked and vigorously shook his head. He would so kill for a cup of coffee right now. . .

Mike moved on to the dining room, nothing of interest there. He lastly flicked to the stage, where only Freddy remained. Freddy the Bear was always the last one the stage. Mike frowned, then moved on to the restrooms. The green-eyed man stood once to open the left door, which he had so frantically shut.

It slid up and out of sight, leaving him exposed once more. A voice cooed in the darkness.

"It's me, Michael…"

Mike went stiff as a board in his chair, panicked eyes glancing everywhere. "Who's there?" He called. The twenty-two year old felt kind of silly talking to nothing, but he knew he hadn't imagined that voice. Hee-hee-hee.

A surge of panic rose up in him and Mike rushed to shut both doors, low battery be damned. Beads of sweat trickled down his temple and down side of his neck. It disappeared into his shirt collar and he twitched.

He glanced down at the tablet again and his green eyes widened. 60%. 59. 58. 57. No, no, no! What's happening?

40%. 30. 20. . .

Dread make his heart sink to his stomach and he felt sick. How was the power going so quickly?! What time was it?

"One? How the hell is it still one?" He shouted angrily at the tablet, shaking it. As if that would force the answers he wanted out of it.

Vwoooooooosh.

Mike froze. The doors went up. The lights went out, plunging him into darkness. The screen of his tablet went black. Then suddenly, white words flashed across it, switching between two phrases every few seconds. Both just as terrifying.

Look up.

It's me.

Look up.

Anxiety made his palms sweaty and the back of his neck itched. Slowly he forced his gaze up.

His neck cracked. Fear curled in his gut.

Mike knew he shouldn't have. But the temptation was so strong. Too strong for him to resist.

In front of him was a slumped golden Freddy Fazbear costume. He presumed it was empty due to its strange slouched position, as if it just didn't have the strength to sit up straight. But the head somehow managed to lock its empty void of a gaze with Mike's own.

It wasn't like the others. He could tell. There was no pinprick of white in the middle of those black holes for eyes. There was nothing. Nothing. . .

A horribly awful screech pierced the air, severing the silence with its grating quality.

It was horrifyingly familiar, but so foreign at the same time. The other screams, they had a-an electronic undertone. That was it. But this…

This was the scream of a child.

"Ahh!" Mike exclaimed as he shot up out of bed. His heart raced and he felt light-headed. Oh. "Oh thank god." He murmured. "It was just another nightmare."

He'd been having these for a while now, ever since he completed his five nights at the pizzeria. The boss had offered him the chance to come back the next week. As if.

But it was okay because everything was over now. He would never have to see those stupid crazy robots, never have to work there again.

Because it was over.

It was over. . .

Right?


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike Schmidt went through five nights at hell, but it's finally over. Or so he thinks. When Freddy's Fazbear's Pizza has a grand reopening, they go all out, even adding new animatronics. But they're not what they seem. Now Mike has his life turned upside down again when the old Fazbear crew comes to him of all people for help. Can he trust them? Can they work together? Or will Mike lose his mind and life along the way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This story can also be found on fanfiction.com*

But it was okay because everything was over now. He would never have to see those stupid crazy robots, never have to work there again.

Because it was over.

It was over. . .

Right?

Mike sighed heavily, bracing his arms on the simple, round table in front of him. A lone cup of coffee and this morning's newspaper, yet to be read, sat before him. He buried the heels of his palms into his eyes, attempting to rub the sleep out of them. Turns out he had woken up at three in the morning. It was four now.

He had been trying to search for a new job since he quit the graveyard shift, checking the paper for any openings every morning. As per usual, he skipped straight to the job offer section and began sifting through. Let's see . . . graphic designer? Nah, that's too boring. Janitor? That could be something. He then spotted something below it. Half shift night guard. Hours are midnight to six AM. Aaaaaaand never mind. A familiar ringtone brought him out of his thoughts. Shaking his head in disappointment, he rose to go answer.

"So they're reopening, eh? Thought for sure they'd be toast after that whole bite incident," remarked a bald and burly looking man in overalls, Tom, as he loaded boxes into a warehouse.

"Yep," his friend replied, a skinny looking man, Gary, who looked as though a gust of wind would knock him over, "I hear that they're even adding new robots."

"These them?" Tom grunted, nodding to the crates. "They're heavy as fuck."

"Yessiree. Soon as they get the whole place set up, we'll be back to move 'em in. Let's hope this time they program 'em to not bite some other kid's head off. Yo, Murphy, that the last of 'em?" After receiving affirmation, both men wiped their palms on their jeans and headed back to an old blue pickup, where Murphy waited for them.

Suddenly, Gary froze, keys in hand. He tossed them onto the driver's seat, walking slowly to the wide door of the storage house, staring at it. The action went unnoticed by Tom and Murphy, both chatting away about last night's football game.

Gary fumbled for a ring of keys attached to one of his belt loops, and after sticking in the right one into the lock, crouched and lifted the door. He peeked his head in, scanning the expanse of the inside. . . "Hello?"

Receiving no response, he ventured further. It was already dark out, the soft light of the moon streamed through the small, few windows of the structure, giving the place an eerie look. He swallowed, daring to call out once more. A third time. And again, there was no reply. He tensed at the sound of a small clang near the back door, but he couldn't see what it was. Slowly, the man crept closer and closer and he swore up and down he could make out a slim, tall figure…

"Gary!"

The skinny man just about leapt right out of his skin, whirling around. He relaxed, recognizing the voice of Tom, and turned to the back wall once more. Nothing but boxes and bubble wrap. Perhaps it was just the light playing tricks on his mind, or the exhaustion of working long hours had finally gotten to him. "Gary, what the hell are you doin' back in 'ere? C'mon, let's go!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." With one last backwards glace, he returned to Tom's side, and together they pulled the thin metal door back down. It closed with an echoing slam. They climbed into the truck, and sped off, tires kicking up dust and bright headlights becoming smaller as they got farther away.

But inside the warehouse, a quiet melody played, bouncing off the walls.

I've got no strings

To hold me down

To make me fret, to make me frown

I had strings

But now I'm free. . .

By the sound of it, it seemed like a child singing freely, sweet and soft without a care in the world. But then, the voice suddenly turned demonic, low and growling and dark.

. . . There are no strings on me.


	3. Chapter Three

"Hello?" Mike asked gruffly. He blinked, cleared his throat and tried again. "Uh, hello?"

"Hey, Mike. Just wanted to call to remind you to pick Sara and me up at the airport today. Unless you actually remembered." His friend, Daniella, lightly teased.

"Of course," Mike replied sassily, with mild annoyance that quickly turned into sheepishness. "Um, what time again?"

Dani laughed triumphantly. "I knew it. Three thirty. Oh, you mind picking up lunch? Sara and I are starving."

"You mean you're starving."

"Hey, a five and a half hour flight with shi-crappy airplane food is bound to make anyone hungry, Besides, I've been dying for Chinese. Please?" Mike could practically see the pout on her face. He gave in, sighing.

"Yessss. Oh, I gotta go, this lady's raggin' on me for being on my cell. See you at the airport. Remember, three thirty!" Click.

The brunet snapped his flip phone shut and set it back down on the counter, and folded the newspaper back up to check the rest of the offers later. With the reoccurring nightmares, struggling to find a new job, and worrying about the rent, he'd completely forgotten all about picking up Daniella.

The two were good friends; they bonded over the strained relationship they had with their parents. Dani's mother had protested strongly against the notion of her daughter having a child at such an early age, something about "throwing her life away", and her father was indifferent. The girl in question was furious at such a response. They argued so much that eventually her mother cut herself off from her completely, and her dad didn't protest.

Mike had felt sorry for her, offered a shoulder to lean on, and a place to stay at until she got back on her feet for both herself and her daughter. He'd described to her his nightmarish job—staying up until six, the god-awful pay (not the insignificant part where kids animatronics came to life to kill him in the dead of night)-and it turned out she could relate. The young man sighed and headed to his shower. Really, it seemed that he was the one that needed dire help as of now…

He had done some research that consisted of "nightmares" "insomnia" "nightmares and flashbacks" and apparently, those things added up to something called PTSD.

"PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, is a psychiatric disorder that can occur following the experience or witnessing of a life-threatening events such as military combat, natural disasters, terrorist incidents, serious accidents, or physical or sexual assault in adult or childhood.

"Nightmares that follow trauma often involve the same scary elements that were in the trauma. For example, someone who went through Hurricane Katrina may have dreams about high winds or floods. They may dream about trying to escape the waters or being in a shelter that does not feel safe. A survivor of a hold-up might have nightmares about the robber or about being held at gunpoint." – .

To be honest, that made quite a bit of sense. He had survived five nights with crazy robots trying to stuff him in a suit, so then he had nightmares of dying that way. Well, not so much the one last night—those were one of the just plain creepy ones. And pretty mild, now that he thought about it. Really, it varied from night to night. Some were definitely more gruesome and vivid than others.

Mike closed his eyes and let the hot streams of water pour down his body, and allowed his dark thoughts about his daily troubles to go with them. He loved the shower. It was the one place where he could clear his mind and reflect on the important things he needed to do. Speaking of which. . . Man I really need to find a job soon. I'm running out of savings to pay the rent. Carl's probably gonna be on my ass better than my pants will.

The brunet reached out a pale hand and twisted the squeaky knobs shut, the other reached for a light green towel. He rubbed it all over his now wet and dark brown hair and shook his head, sending water droplets everywhere in the process. He then wrapped the damp towel around his waist and held it in place with one hand, carefully stepping to the door. He didn't want to slip.

A golden flash appeared in the corner of his eye. He backpedaled furiously to the fog-covered mirror, seeing a blurry golden shape- heeheeheeITSMEITSME-. He let out a yelp, skidding back and somehow miraculously not slipping and cracking his skull open on the tile. Mike waited a few moments pressed up against the peeling wallpaper, heart pounding. He hesitantly pried his eyelids open.

Aaaaand. . Nothing. Just his smoggy reflection.

Slowly, he lowered the defensive arm he had raised and used it to wipe the mirror clean. Just his plain self. He exhaled, long and loud and gripped either side of the cheap sink with both hands, knuckles white. He looked, well. . .

His once vibrant blue eyes-blue eyes glowed in the darkness doo do doo do doo doo do doo-were now dull with fatigue, pupils dilated from the earlier panic. Damp chestnut colored bangs hung in his face and the rest of it stuck up in unruly spikes. His normally fair skin was now white as a sheet, and dark shadows were smudged under his eyes. His lips looked bloodless and chapped. He chuckled wryly. "Well, don't I look fabulous?"

Mike sighed and looked away. He pushed himself up and away (keeping a watchful eye on the mirror) and walked back to his room, trying to forget about the hallucination.

He pulled on navy blue boxers, jeans, a grey t-shirt with faded black lettering, and his favorite All-Star high top red converse, rushing. The airport wasn't all that far, a ten minute drive with light traffic, but he still had to pick up lunch. Mike finally made it to his car (after stealthily avoiding Carl the Evil Landlord) and peeled out.

~!~

Mike tapped his foot on the floor and drummed his fingers on the armrests, earning unnoticed dirty looks. He stared at the opening where the arrivals came through and scanned the crowd for two familiar faces. He wasn't really a fan of crowded places, they made him feel claustrophobic-two metal doors shutting him in go away so I can open the doors goawaygoawaygoaway- and twitchy, hence the tapping and drumming. A little girl's cry of excitement broke him out of his thoughts.

"Mikey!" He looked up to see a little girl in a yellow dress run to him as fast as her little legs could carry her, her blonde pigtails bouncing with each step. He broke into a grin, spreading his arms, and she launched herself into them, her own short arms winding around his neck. "I missed you Uncle Mikey!"

"Sara", a new voice broke in, "What did I you tell about hugging weirdoes?" He frowned down at a raven-haired woman smiling at him, amusement in her green eyes.

"But she's not hugging you right now," Mike pretended to be confused. Sara giggled in his ear, and clamped a small hand over her mouth.

"Yeah, real funny Schmidt." She deadpanned, but leaned forward to give him a friendly peck on the cheek. "So you pick up lunch or what?"

"Yeah." He rolled his eyes and looked to Sara. "I think your mom's obsessed with food, kiddo."

"Hey!"

~!~

"So, you two fly all the way over to visit little ol' me or just to eat all my food?" Mike teased, grinning. He and Dani were curled up on the worn brown couch while Sara sat at the table with a coloring book, legs swinging.

"Well actually, both those reasons and something else." She smiled (nervously?). "Sara you wanna tell him?"

"Oh yeah! Mikey, we're gonna get to see new Freddy and his friends!" Mike's blood went cold.

"W-what?"

"Yeah, they're opening real close by your place. It's been all over the papers-" Before she even finished Mike was scrambling off the couch to the table where the newspaper lay. He flipped it over, his hands trembling.

FREDDY FAZBEAR'S FANTASTIC REOPENING!

Oh god no.


	4. Chapter Four

Mike frowned as he flipped through the newspaper for the umpteenth time. He had been looking for a job for the longest time now, the bills had started to pile up, the stress was building and the urge to just . . . he glanced over his shoulder, where his stash had once been. No, Mike. Stop. You’re done, remember? He sighed. He wasn’t an alcoholic, he just . . . unkindly abused the substance every now and then. But he was not an alcoholic. There was a big difference between being addicted and binge drinking. The brunet leaned back farther in his chair and scanned though a few more jobs until he saw something that caught his eye. What’s this?

FREDDY FAZBEAR’S PIZZA

Family pizzeria looking for security guard to work the night shift. 12 am to 6 am.

Monitor cameras, ensure safety of equipment and animatronic characters. Not responsible for injury/ dismemberment. 

$120 a week. To apply call 1-888-FAZ-FAZBEAR 

Hey, that wasn’t so bad was it? Sure the pay was a little sketchy but maybe if he did a good job and stayed on the manager’s good side that would change. He nodded to himself and reached for the phone, punching the numbers in. He took a deep breath and held the phone to his ear.

Ringing. Ringing. Ringing still- oh wait. “Hello?” a female voice questioned.

“Ah, yeah,” Mike’s voice cracked- wow, I’m off to a good start already-, “I’m uh, calling to apply for the job--”

“I’m very sorry, sir, but the position for janitor has already been filled. Have a nice. . .”

“Wait!” Mike blurted. “I’m not, I don’t want to sign up to be a janitor. I’m calling for the night guard shift.”

There was silence on the other end. The faint sound of a swallow. Then, “From twelve am to six am?” For some reason the woman suddenly sounded slightly fearful. Mike nodded, mentally face palmed when he realize she couldn’t actually see him nodding, and verbally answered. “Yeah. Er, if it hasn’t already been filled yet.”

“No, sir, it hasn’t. If you could show up to the pizzeria today before midnight you’ve got the job.” The woman’s tone suddenly sounded clipped and flat, but Mike was too shocked to notice. He had the job? Just like that? “Yes, sir, you do.” The blue-eyed man blinked when he realized he was talking aloud. 

“Uh yeah, yeah, sure! Is,” he glanced at the clock, “eleven thirty ok?”

“Yes. See you there . . .?” She trailed off.

“Uh, Schmidt, Michael Schmidt, ma’am.”

“Alright then.” She hung up. Mike grinned, he couldn’t believe it! That had been so easy. But wait. Maybe it was a little too easy. What if it was some kind of scam? What if he couldn’t stand it? C’mon, Mike. He thought. You’re working at a kid’s pizzeria, how bad could it be? 

~!~

Mike pulled into the littered parking lot. He stepped out of his worn car to gaze at the old building. A sign read “Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza” in neon red letters. Underneath was “Where Fantasy and Fun Come to Life!” A few of the letters had been fizzled out, and others were flickering on and off. He slowly walked up to the doors, laid a hand on the handle. Man, he remembered coming here as a kid. His parents used to take him every Sunday until the bite of ’87. The brunet shook his head and made his way inside.

“Uh, hello?” Mike called, catching the attention of a young woman at the front desk, her dark hair in a bun. She opened her mouth to speak but a somewhat heavyset man came up from behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got this, Melanie. You should probably be heading home.” For a few moments the two locked eyes and she seemed to glower at him before shutting off her computer, gathering her purse and brushing past them. The bell rang as she left.

“Sorry about that, son. That woman can be a real pain sometimes,” the man muttered the last part lowly.

“Oh, it’s fine.” He replied awkwardly.

“Anyway,” the man grinned with yellow teeth, “You must be Mike, right? I’m the manager, Earl Jackson. Er, s’okay if I call ya that? Mike? Nah, course it is! You work for me now!”

“Uh. . .” Mike’s hand was suddenly gripped in a firm hand shake and he grunted, repressing a wince as his shoulder was nearly pulled out of its socket. “Well, then it sure is good to meet you, Mike! You’ve been a godsend.”

“Really?” Mike’s brows shot to his hairline his voice rising a pitch with disbelief. 

“Of course! Lemme admit to ya, son, this place has gone through some rough times,” the manager swung his hands around as he spoke, “Work’s been pretty hard to find and money’s been stretching a bit thin.” Well, that explained the pay. 

“But maybe you can help pick things up a bit.” They headed down a long hallway decorated with children’s posters and grease stains. The lights flickered occasionally. Which definitely wasn’t creepy. At all. “Now I now it may seem a bit spooky at night all by your lonesome,” it seemed he picked up on Mike’s thoughts, “but I assure you you’ll be nice and safe in your security office!” The greasy man swept his arm in a wide and grand gesture, as if he wasn’t presenting some small cruddy office. 

It was definitely a bit tight, and hot. There was a swivel chair, a few small fans, and for whatever reason a creepy pink cupcake with two big eyes. More children’s posters were haphazardly stapled to the wall, a poor attempt to bring some cheer to the office, but it only served to bring a chill down Mike’s spine. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. 

“Alrighty then, here’s all you need to do. This red button here is for the door and the white is for the light-little rhyme there to help you remember- and it’s the same for right over here. Well then I think that’s. . .”

“Wait, whoa –what--what’s the door for?” Mike stammered, trying to remember what the manager was rushing out of his mouth.

“It’s in case robbers break in, nothing to be worried about. Go on. Push it.”

Mike reached out a hand and he yelped as a heavy gray door came rushing down with a loud grating sound. He stumbled back, the thing had nearly crushed his foot! The door had to be at least five or six inches thick. Earl laughed, one hairy hand on his rotund belly. “Careful there, son. They’re pretty heavy.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Well then, we’ve got ten minutes before your shift starts, so you’d better get dressed.” Mike suddenly had a bundle of blue shoved into his chest. 

Earl clamped his hands on Mike’s thin shoulders, spun him around, and pushed him out into the hall way, towards the bathrooms. “And try to be back before midnight. Best of luck to you, Mike!” He waved over his shoulder, car keys dangling in hand as he headed for the exit.

“You’re gonna need it.”  
~!~  
Mike fiddled with the black tie around his neck. His uniform consisted of a light blue button up shirt with the gold nametag ‘Mike’ already attached to it, a ring of keys looped through his belt loop, a standard flashlight, and a cap that read SECURITY in white. At least he got to keep his jeans and converse. 

The brunet glanced at the clock. 12:01 am. Oh yeah, he could do this.

Piece of cake.


	5. Chapter Five

“Mike?” A soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Mike, are you okay?”

“What? No, yeah I’m fine, I just, I. . .” The room suddenly felt a lot smaller. The walls seemed to be closing in, shrinking to roughly the size of Freddy Fazbear’s Security Office. His heart raced. 

A hand placed itself on his shoulder and he flinched. Luckily, the young woman didn’t notice his small mental breakdown. “Look, I know it’s kind of awkward since you quit and all and you’ve already done so much for Sara and me.” Dani scratched the back of her head. She looked guilty. “I mean you don’t have to, but it’d mean the world to Sara, because it’s her birthday and she really wants you to be there and you know how it’s been with her dad and all,” she scowled a little, “ . . . and, I. . .”

“Sure.” The raven’s head snapped up. “Yeah, I’ll take you guys.”

The words were pouring out of his mouth and he couldn’t stop them. “R-really? Are you sure, Mike? If it’s too much trouble, we can always just take her out for ice cream or   
something. . .”

Mike held firm, but he felt his eye twitch. “No, it’s no trouble. Really Dani. If Sara wants it for her birthday then that’s what’s she going to get. Piece of cake.”  
The six year old cheered. “Thank you Uncle Mikey!” She ran up and hugged his legs tight, with a big grin. “We’re gonna have a lot of fun! Aren’t we?”

The brunet scooped her up, smiled, but it felt tight. “We sure are, Sara.”

~!~

A few days later, Freddy’s Fazbear’s: 2:50 pm

“Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to the new and updated Freddy Fazbear’s!” A well-dressed man cried joyfully in to a mic, gesturing behind him. “Thank you so much all for coming to this place where fantasy and fun come to life. The ribbon will be cut today at approximately three pm, when the doors officially open, but until then I will be taking questions for anyone who has some.”

“Mr. Grimes, over here!”

“Mr. Grimes, a minute?”

“Mr. Grimes!”

The man held his hands in a placating fashion. “Now, now one at a time. You first.” He pointed at a young Asian woman.  
She held out her own microphone. “Mr. Grimes, what can you tell us about these ‘new’ animatronics?”

“Well, you see, since the . . . disappearance . . . of those poor children, we’ve decided to make the safety of our young guests top priority, with their entertainment coming in as a close second. A new facial recognition scanning feature had been added to the programming of each of the characters, even our original ones-I’d like to thank Grayson for this,” he waved at a jumpsuit-clad man in the back, “With this, they have the criminal profile of every kidnapper, murderer and pedophile stored in their database, and will be able to recognize one if they take even one step past those doors. For added safety, the also have a file on any over eighteen who lives within a one mile radius, but those files aren’t nearly as detailed or monitored. Just your basic information.”

“But don’t you think that’s an invasion of privacy to residents who aren’t brutal criminals?” A grey-clad blonde man questioned.

“Like I said,” Mr. Grimes responded, grey eyes calm, “it is basic information. Their personal lives will not be delved into. And if anything, they shouldn’t mind at all seeing as how it’s for the safety of our young ones. If they have something to hide, isn’t our responsibility to find out if it’s something sinister?” There were murmurs of agreement, mostly from mothers and fathers in the crowd.

A dark-skinned man spoke up. “Referring back to the original animatronics, what will be happening to them with the new ones coming in?” The herd of reporters leaned in with recorders and writing pads in hand.

“Well, they will not be put into storage permanently if that’s what you’re asking. You see, those specific characters hold a very special place in my heart, and I’m sure many of you out there feel the same.” Again, there were nods of agreement, a few fond smiles. “There is still discussion on what we’re going to do with them, but I assure you, they’ll be sticking around. Oh, wait, what’s that?” Another man had come up onto stage and muttered something into his ear.

“Oh my, oh my!” He laughed, glancing at his wrist. “Three o’ clock already! Well, then, I guess you know what that means!” The same man that had come up earlier handed Mr. Grimes a large pair of scissors.

“One, two, three!” With a great SNIP the red ribbon parted, people applauded, and cameras flashed.

~!~

Mike felt sick.

The trio had made it just in time to see the ribbon snap, the grand doors opening as parents and children alike swarmed in, chattering and cheering.

He stared after them. A good portion had already rushed to the stage, pointing. His gaze traveled up. There were long closed red curtains, with gold stars. The place was actually rather large, much larger than the last one. There was confetti and colorful streamers everywhere, and a little boy animatronic handing out balloons. There was a prize corner with stuffed animals and fun little trinkets and some sort of box peeked out from behind the counter. There was even a carousel. The floor was shiny and checker patterned and in some places there were pizza’s attached to wall, of all things.

Oh, man, he could just feel another attack coming on. 

“ – sir.” Mike snapped to attention.

“Sorry, what?” A bored looking young woman sighed, clearly exasperated. “Your hand, sir.” 

He quickly stuck it out, not wanting to annoy the woman further, swallowing his anxiety. Red numbers were stamped onto the back of his hand, along with Sara and Danielle.

“C’mon Mike, come on! Let’s play a game before the show starts!” An excited Sara tugged his hand, pulling him along. Dani just grinned and shrugged helplessly.

They reached the Game Area and Mike pulled out his wallet to push a few bills into an employee’s hand for a few cups full of tokens. They raced cars, had dance offs, rode the carousel (well, Sara did), and slowly, Mike was starting to forget his troubles. He was actually kind of having fun. And it was definitely worth coming back to see his best friend’s daughter smile like that. Well, almost.

“All boys and girls please report the dining area, the show will be starting soon, all boys and girls please report to the dining area.”

Oh joy, Mike thought.

~!~

The three had taken their seat in one of the play rooms, party hats and other goodies spread out on the table.   
Mike strapped a pink hat on Sara’s head and pretended the fuzz on top tickled his nose, making her giggle. They looked up as the PA spoke again:

“Alright ladies and gentleman, Fazbear Entertainment is proud to present the Fred Fazbear Gang!” 

Fred Fazbear? 

“Bon Bon the Bunny!” A very bright sky blue bunny animatronic stepped into the blue spotlight with grass green eyes, red bowtie, and a sleek guitar in hand. And . . . was he wearing make- up? It certainly looked like it. Bon Bon’s lashes were long and dark with red circles on his cheeks, and his eyelids were purple. “Hey kids, are you ready to rock?” Bon Bon called out eagerly with a buck-toothed grin. The kids cheered in response.

“Cheeks the Chicken!” A slender yellow chicken animatronic(with pink underwear?) stepped up with a bib that read ‘Let’s Eat’! Cheeks held a platter in one hand which had a creepy looking pink cupcake on it. “Remember to buy some good ‘ol Fazbear pizza, kiddies!” She sang.

The cupcake. It looked like the cupcake on the desk. 

Mike abruptly stood, banging his knee and causing the table to rattle. He nearly knocked over his chair. He muttered some excuse about going to the bathroom (“must’ve been the sucky pizza or something”) and quickly strode out, hands shoved in his pockets.

A cupcake. He was freaking out because of a fucking cupcake. Thanks a lot you feathered freak, Mike managed to quip bitterly in head amongst the panicky thoughts.   
He stumbled a bit through the halls, twitchy and nervous, and praying to any deity out there with hopes that he wouldn’t get lost. There were posters of the new gang on either side of him- poorly drawn children smiled at him from the walls- and he walked faster. So fast he didn’t look where he was going.  
He reached the main hall and caught sight of the bathroom. He suddenly smacked into someone. “Uh, s-sorry!”

Mike looked up. It was a young man in a blue uniform, with messy brown hair and light blue eyes. His gaze was haunted, his mouth a crooked frown, making him look much older than he really was. Mike blinked. The man’s hair was black, not brown, and his eyes were a soft turquoise. 

Mike shook his head. “Uh it’s fine,” he assured the nervous employee with a grin. The brunet rocked back and forth on his heels. His eyes glanced to the men’s washroom behind him but didn’t want to seem rude by pushing on past him.

The man smiled with timid relief, and reached out a hand. “My name’s Jeremy. Jeremy Fitzgerald.”

“Mike.”

“Mike?” His brow furrowed. “Like, Mike Schmidt?” 

The man in question frowned, smile slipping. “Uh, yes.” It came out more like a question then a statement.

“Oh, w-wow, they told me you worked here, uh, before. As the night guard? Um, I’m the new one. Do you . . . do you think there’s any advice you could give me? I-if you want.” He blabbed on, stammering. “I mean, you don’t have to. . .”

“Yeah, actually.”

“Really? What?” Jeremy leaned forward slightly. He faltered when Mike looked him right in the eye.

“You should’ve looked for another job.”

With that, he maneuvered around him and retreated into the restroom, leaving the stunned employee behind. 

~!~

Mike stayed in there for practically the rest of the show. He practiced breathing, splashed water on his face, anything to help calm him down from being in this screwed up, hellish, god forsaken kiddy restaurant. The Fred Fazbear gang’s faces were slapped all over the walls, grinning at him. “What? You guys wanna watch me take a leak? Kinda pervy.” He joked lightly, an attempt to distract himself. It didn’t work.

There was a face he almost didn’t recognize, a pink wolf fox thing with lipstick. Wait. They made Foxy into a girl? He couldn’t help but chuckle. He could also spot the new version of Freddy. Fred, they’d dubbed him. Pfft, that was stupid. All they did was take off two letters. Well, and his face was different. 

They were all different. More human like, with the weird make up thing going on with them. Like they were toy dolls or something.   
Imagine that. Killer kid’s animatronics and dolls. “Well done, gentleman,” He mimicked a board member of Fazbear Entertainment with a deep baritone, putting a mock serious   
face, “we’ve successfully made them as creepy-looking as possible- that’ll be good for business!” As soon as he finished speaking, a man entered and gave him a weird look, causing Mike to look away and cough awkwardly into his fist.

“Creepy?” 

Mike turned around. The man was staring at him, halfway into a stall.

“I don’t think they’re creepy.” The ex-employee searched for a response but his mouth had gone dry.

“Whoever made them,” he put a strange emphasis on ‘whoever’, “has the joy in them. The joy of creation.” He tilted his head to the side. “They are beautiful. Don’t you think they’re beautiful?”

Mike stared wide eyed. Heart thumping in his chest, thoughts screaming at him to get the hell out of there. “I. . .”

His eyes glinted from under the hat he wore.“You can beautiful, too, if you want, Mike.”

The sound of his name coming from the stranger’s lips snapped him into action. He made a run for it, bursting through the door and he nearly face-planted. He panted wildly glancing about him as he stumbled through the halls again searching for the company he brought with him. And again, he nearly smacked into them.

“Mike!” Dani exclaimed, trying to regain the grip she’d lost on Sara. She was asleep, or had been, all tucked out. “What is the matter with you? Where have you been? You went to the bathroom ages ago! The show’s just about to end.” Mike glanced at the stage.

“Thanks for coming, kids!” Fred was finishing, and his head twisted to lock gazes with Mike.

“We’ll see you next time.”

The curtain dropped, and the lights turned back on.


End file.
